"Now..." Gargoyle's voice continued, while Marek stared on. Will anyone believe that I was examined by a talking fruit?
The fruit grinned at him. "Shall we peel back the lies?" The Eye tittered its pleasure. And the skin of the orange oval fruit began to peel back of its own accord revealing scarlet flesh, lined with thick varicose veins of white connective tissue. Marek brought his hand up to his mouth and bit back the urge to yell, instead biting down gently on the side of his finger. "Tell me Marek, what do you be-lieve."
I don't know what I believe, but I can't believe this is happening.
The console came alive once more. It was a re-enactment of the battle. Once more, thousands of fighters broke free from the League fleet and approached the planet. Once more they were ripped to pieces by the planetary defenses and the fighters in orbit. The cover was cleared, but at what cost? It was the right answer, but was it right? It felt... wrong. I feel... angry? Sad? It wasn't real, but at the same time, it was very real, wasn't it? Marek continued to stare at the console, his eyes drifting blankly across the debris field. He shook his head lightly and raised his eyes.
The fruit - or Gargoyle - the Eye - whatever It was looked on. Drips of scarlet juices oozed down the peel, sliding their way along its inner white skin, before dropping to the floor and fizzling into nothingness.
Marek raised his voice and his chin from the console, slowly muttering his words. "So many... die. The shields would save so many. Why? Why send in fighters to die at all?" He sighed, lowering his eyes.
A sudden low slippery sound brought his eyes back to the fruit. Juices were rushing out from the top. As he watched, they darkened, becoming grey and thick. A sucking noise pulled at the room, and the juice billowed outwards, in an opaque roiling fog that rushed outwards, blotting out his vision. A moment later, with a harsh barking cough, the fog snapped back to a single point, reforming the moon, and the Eye. It hovered up to him and then stopped, blinking out Gargoyle's response.
"Ah, I should have known." The moon's shadows curved into a smirk.
The planet wavered and vanished into a field of shimmering silver stars. As Marek watched, the stars coalesced into shivering letters forming two words, Credits, and below it, Crew.
Gargoyle's voice whispered in his ear, "Soooo." Marek's heart skipped a beat. I'm never going to get used to this. Amusement spilled into Gargoyle's voice. "You would have sent in heavy cruisers alone, then?" He could almost hear the ugly grin on his face.
Light flashed in the distance, and Marek found his gaze accelerating between the words and into the midst of what appeared to be hundreds of heavy cruisers. As he watched, the space around him shifted with tiny ripples and eddies. And with it, the ships surrounding him began to move, first twitching, then twisting drunkenly in space, before slowly revolving around him, gradually gaining in speed. He found himself in the eye of a tornado, watching as the swirling ships began to splinter and crack. And suddenly he was in the midst of the cyclone, directly behind a heavy cruiser. A sound like breaking glass drifted back to him. And thin spiderwebs spread throughout the hull of the ship. With a resounding crack the ship split, spilling out metal and flailing bodies. The ship began to close in on itself, grinding itself together into a metal ball with the shriek of groaning metal. To his left, two bodies collided and stuck, before being joined by another, and then two more in space suits, and then by more still. Debris spilled into view, pressing itself into the metal ball. He drifted farther behind the scene, watching as the collections of debris and bodies grew from tiny spheres into asteroids. They were free of the cyclone and accelerating back towards the letters and words.
A blinding light flashed. Marek clenched his eyes shut. And when he opened them, he was back looking out from his seat. The words were followed by numbers.
Credits: 504,000.
Crew: 10,080.
Gargoyle whispered from behind him. "So you think that this is better than before?" The console blinked on below him, blank but for the symbol of the Eye. He wasn't sure how, but he could sense that it was smiling.
The console flickered and a series of images began repeating across the screen: the planet; the fleet; waves of energy; flashes of ships firing, burning, and eroding; space suits; and debris fields. It was the first simulation. As it played, droplets of silver liquid flowed out of the screen, entered the air, and coalesced in two adjacent mercurial spheres of light.
The console went black, but the spheres remained. There was a whisper in the air coming from their direction. What is that? Marek reached his hand forward to touch the left-most sphere.
A silver hand burst forth and grasped his wrist. "KIG'!" Marek shouted, lurching back in his seat, but the hand stayed on him. His wrist was on fire.
Lips and eyes rose and fell on the surface of the hand. "Heeeelp ussss" they hissed, while the hand slide off of his arm, drawn away by the sphere, itself slowly drifting away. The plea continued within his ears. Heeeelp usssss. Marek shuddered. Gargoyle's cackle filled the room.
The second sphere pulsed with light and sharp lines emerged from its sides. Wings and the nose of a fighter sprouted from the sphere, and its tail ignited in a silver engine fire. The fighter sphere accelerated after the other. It fired. And a silver explosion filled the air, temporarily blinding him.
When it cleared, the spheres were gone, but new numbers had appeared next to the others:
Credits: 504,000 ; 349,955.
Crew: 10,080 ; 56,221.
Marek closed his eyes, unconsciously rubbing his wrist. 46 thousand more lives lost? No wonder they called them meat...
He opened his eyes. The planet wearing the Eye was back. "Now," the Eye blinked in Gargoyle's voice, "do you see?"
Marek brought his hand up to rub his forehead. His fingers brushed the cold metal of the helmet. The Eye blinked, "No. You do not."
